


Spike and Xander's Rocking New Year's Eve

by dustandroses



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Basement of Doom, Community: tamingthemuse, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, New Year's Eve, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustandroses/pseuds/dustandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Spike, why are you in my house, wearing my last clean pair of underwear?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Spike and Xander's Rocking New Year's Eve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laazikaat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Laazikaat).



> Beta by Trillingstar, my other hero and shit.
> 
> This story is dedicated to Laazikaat, who goes above and beyond to get the Spander out there for all of us.
> 
> Special thanks go out to Trillingstar, who did a rush beta at the very last minute, while visiting family many miles away from home.
> 
>  **AU Notes:** The story takes place on New Year's Eve 2000, which means mid-Season Five. However, a few things are different, making this story an AU: Xander and Anya broke up at the end of Season Four,  Xander still lives in his parent's basement, and Spike never fell for Buffy.

Xander dragged himself inside, closing the door wearily behind him. He dropped his bag by the refrigerator, the sound of the washing machine nudging his mind back from yet another replay of the last hour, because it was so totally out of place. If the washing machine was running at nine-thirty on a Sunday night, something was wrong. His mom wouldn’t be doing laundry now; she only did it on weekday afternoons, checking the loads between her shows. By this time of night, she was way too sloshed to care about clean clothes.

The bathroom door opened, and Spike strolled out on a cloud of steam, scrubbing his hair with a towel. He was wearing a pair of Xander’s boxer briefs, the ones that Xander refused to wear until everything else was dirty, because they embarrassed the hell out of him, even when he wore them under the baggiest pair of pants he could find. Anya had bought them for him a couple of months before they broke up, and they were so tight he’d told her they were the wrong size. She swore up and down that they were supposed to be like that, but they always made him uncomfortable.

“Harris! Why aren’t you at work?” Spike looked as surprised to see Xander there as Xander was to see him.

“Spike, why are you in my house, wearing my last clean pair of underwear? Dammit, I was going to wear those tomorrow.”

Spike dropped his towel on a chair and grabbed a beer out of the six pack from some odd European brewery that was sitting on the coffee table. He glanced disdainfully at the large pile of laundry on the floor next to the washer. “Guess I did you a favor, then. You’ll have to do your laundry now, won’t you?”

Xander narrowed his eyes as Spike bent over to pop the top off his beer on the edge of the coffee table. He was going to scar the table that way, and - _holy shit_! Those boxers looked a hell of a lot better on Spike than they did on Xander. Spike didn’t have the same build, so they weren’t quite as skin tight, but they still clung to every curve of his ass.

Spike stood up, gulping a good third of his beer in one go, and Xander realized the boxer briefs were so close fitting he could tell Spike wasn’t circumcised. Not that he hadn’t known that already, since Spike had a tendency to walk around in his birthday suit when he got out of the shower.

“Like what you see, Harris?” Spike smirked at him, interrupting his thoughts, and Xander blushed when he realized he’d been caught staring.

“I was just wondering why you’re wearing underwear. You usually walk around naked when you get out of the shower. You did take a shower, right?” He waved his hand in the direction of Spike’s hair, which was standing up in soft waves and pointy spikes all over his head. Hey…Spike’s hair had spikes!

Xander snorted with laughter. “Your hair’s all _spiky_!”

Spike scowled at him, and attempted to smooth it down with his hands, but it wouldn’t behave. “Shut up, berk. And I’m wearing underwear, because your couch is scratchy on my bare bum. You need a new couch, wanker.”

He took another big chug of his beer, and Xander’s mouth watered. Beer – that was a good idea. He turned back to the fridge and started pulling six packs out of the bag, shoving things around to make them fit. If he was spending New Year’s Eve alone, at least he was gonna have plenty of beer. And pizza. He should order pizza. He grabbed a bottle out of the last pack before he shoved it in next to some leftover Chinese. He twisted off the cap as he slammed the door shut, flipping it into the trash.

The beer was nice and cold and just what he wanted. No, what he _needed_ after a night like tonight. It wasn’t every day you got fired for saving a customer’s life.

“You never answered my question. What the hell are you doing home; you said you’d be working tonight – New Year’s Eve and all.” Spike walked over to the sink and wet his hands, smoothing his hair back so it looked like it normally did, except without the hard sheen of gel.

“You knew I’d be out of the apartment, so you decided to come over for a shower? And are you doing laundry? What the fuck is going on here, Fangless?”

Spike turned his back on Xander and sat down on the couch, tipping his beer up, finishing it off before fitting the bottle back into the six pack and grabbing another one. “Didn’t plan it, you nob. I got jumped on the way to a party to meet this chit with double D’s out to here,” he gave Xander a two-handed visual reference, “and I got ichor all over everything. Where the hell else could I go?”

Great. Everyone in the world had somewhere to be on New Year’s Eve except him. Well, Xander had planned to be elsewhere at midnight even if it was his job, but it hadn’t worked out that way, had it?

“So you thought you’d come by the Harris House of Laundry and Bathing? You do know we charge five bucks a load, don’t you?” Xander grabbed the remote and plopped down on the other end of the couch, flipping rapidly through the channels until he found Dick Clark’s Rocking New Year’s Eve. He might as well spend the night with the world’s oldest teenager, since he sure as hell wasn’t going back out tonight.

“Sorry, Harris, but I’m skint. I’ll have to owe you.”

Xander laughed. “You say that every time. You are the cheapest vampire ever.”

“No, that would be Angelus. He had money coming out his arse, but he always pinched his fucking pennies. Howling like a banshee every time me or Dru cost him a pence more than he’d allowed for.”

“Yeah? I always wondered about that. He wore expensive clothes and lived in a big, fancy apartment, even if it was in a basement.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Glass houses, lunkhead.”

“Hey!” Xander wasn’t happy with the comparison. “Yes, I live in a basement for now, but I’m not wearing fancy suits and silk shirts and wearing Italian leather shoes. If I had the money for that shit, I wouldn’t be living in a basement.”

“Well, basements have their advantages when you’re a vampire.” Spike admitted grudgingly.

Xander nodded his head, he could see the sense in that. “Makes more sense than driving a convertible.”

The washer stopped spinning and gave a final, loud clunk right before the buzzer went off. Spike got up and crossed to the washer. “True. What the hell he was thinking when he bought that car, I’ll never know.” He grabbed his clothes, tossing them quickly into the dryer. Xander was surprised to see something white, although he couldn’t tell what it was. Obviously he wasn’t wearing his standard black on black with a splash of red tonight. Spike studied the dial carefully before turning the dryer on.

Xander smiled to himself. Spike had taken Xander’s instructions to heart after his horrible experience shrinking all his clothes. Now he paid attention to the settings when he did his laundry at Xander’s house, which, Xander had to admit, happened more often than anyone else was aware of. He didn’t mind if every couple of weeks, Spike showed up with a bag full of laundry.

Hell, he didn’t even mind if occasionally, Spike stuck around after the laundry to watch TV. The crypt didn’t get cable, and Xander had pirated his parent’s some time ago. It was nice to have someone around; it got lonely here sometimes, now that Anya was gone…even if Spike did steal his beer and his snack foods.

Not that he was going to admit that to Spike. He was comfortable with their not-quite-a-friendship, and didn’t see any need to change it. Their off the cuff insults and occasionally nasty jabs were habit these days, and neither was really offended by the names they called each other. It was just what they did. Spike plopped down on the couch, blinking when he saw who was on the screen.

“Is that old geezer still alive? Bloody Christ. He looks just the same as he did when I saw him at Times Square back in ’77, after I killed my second slayer. We stuck around for a couple of years after that, me and Drusilla. Dru had a thing for the people with fine gowns and jewels. She insisted we see the ball drop from the Waldorf=Astoria. We spent some time in Times Square before hand, though, drinking our fill of blood laced with the adrenaline rush of life on the edge of a new year. Heady stuff, that.”

Spike looked wistful and melancholic and Xander found it difficult to concentrate on the TV. Spike was the closest thing to living history he’d ever get, and it was easy to get caught up in his words. Well, except for the dead slayer part. He had no interest in hearing about that.

“The Waldorf what?”

“The Waldorf=Astoria. It’s a huge hotel on Park Avenue – so big it takes up a whole city block. Very posh – they spell it with a double hyphen.”

He slashed through the air twice, to explain what he meant. Xander got the idea - it looked like the same thing as an equal sign, but hey, what did he know? He was a blue collar-worker, himself. He didn’t mingle with the hyphenated crowd.

“The very height of high society, even though it was looking a bit tarnished by the time the late seventies rolled around. It was more exciting when we were there in the thirties. The hotel was just a few years old then, and all the elite came out to be seen in the public rooms and the dining rooms. It was a big to-do back then – even if they did only have one hyphen at the time.”

“They did?” Xander was getting a bit confused.

“Yeah, they must have added the second hyphen later, ‘cause when we came back in the seventies, there were two. I guess they thought that made it look more posh or something.”

Spike took a drink of his beer, and Xander wondered if the history lesson was over for the day, but Spike was in a talkative mood, so Xander just let him run with it.

“By the time we came back to New York, they’d been holding a party in the Grand Ball Room every New Year’s Eve for years. Guy Lombardo always played the music.”

“Guy Lom-who-dough?”

Spike sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Kids today. He had this big band sound, but with less heart and soul than some of them had. Ballroom dance music and the like, heavy on the saxophones. Too schmaltzy for me, but Dru liked it. Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians. Only Lombardo died a month before New Year’s Eve that year, and his brother led the band in his honor. Dru wanted to go to Lombardo’s ‘going away party’.

“I could have been at CBGB’s bloody big theater on Second Ave., listening to Richard Hell and Patti Smith. I heard they rocked the house down that night. But what Dru wanted, Dru got, so we got dolled up and went to the Waldorf-double-hyphen-Astoria, to dance with the rich and influential. It was only eight, ten city blocks from the heart of Times Square, so after the ball dropped and Dru’d had enough of the poofy shite, we wandered down to Times Square for the music. It was fairly well crap, too, but it gave us something to listen to while we partied.”

He seemed to run out of steam, then, staring off into the air and playing with his bottle of beer. Xander took a drink of his own beer, realized there was only a little bit left, so he shrugged and downed it. What the hell. He got up and grabbed another beer out of the fridge, thanking his lucky stars that since it was New Year’s Eve, the bars and liquor stores were open, even if it was a Sunday night.

While he was up, he ordered a large pizza. Spike always managed to eat half of it, even if he said he wasn’t hungry, so he got some buffalo wings and an order of onion rings, too. Might as well get plenty. Even if Spike left before it got here, it wouldn’t go to waste. He could have pizza for breakfast. Mmmm… cold pizza. The breakfast of champions.

By the time he sat down again, Spike was back from wherever his mind had taken him. His question caught Xander mid-gulp, and he almost choked.

“You never did say why you were back so early. I thought you said you were working the bar ‘til closing tonight. The crowd too much for you? The Shrunken Head can get pretty rowdy.”

There was a knowing look in Spike’s eyes, and suddenly it became clear to Xander. “Damn! You knew it was a demon bar, didn’t you? Why didn’t you warn me?” he demanded.

Spike put his hands up as if to halt Xander’s aggressive attitude. “It’s not a demon bar. Not really. It is _owned_ by a demon, but he caters to the human crowd, and those that can pass for human. You know - vamps, shape shifters, succubi, werewolves – well, not during their time of the month, but you know what I mean. There are lots of crossbreeds and such that can pass.”

Xander’s anger boiled over and he poked Spike in the chest. “You knew I was in danger and you never told me!”

“Oi!” Spike brushed away Xander’s hand. “You’re a big boy. I figured you knew what you were getting into. Besides, it’s a neutral bar; no one’s allowed to get aggressive. They’ve got spells to keep away violence and shite like that. No one’s supposed to get hurt there.”

The humor was back in Spike’s eyes. “So what happened? Someone recognize you as part of the slayer’s crew and try to call you out or something?”

Xander slumped back into the cushions, his adrenaline draining out of him as fast as it had come. “I got fired for staking a customer before he paid his bill.”

Spike sat up. “You got sacked? What happened? Tell me!”

Xander rolled his eyes. It was humiliating, now that it was over with, and Spike’s enthusiasm wasn’t helping any. He sighed, heavily. “I was working the bar while the regular bartender was on break. I only bartend when it gets busy, ‘cause Leon is good, and a hell of a lot faster than me. But I was learning, and he was a good teacher when it got slow, you know?” He took another drink; it was thirsty work embarrassing yourself like this.

“I didn’t know about the anti-violence spell, but Leon told me later that the spell had to be renewed regularly, and the sorcerer who usually cast it was asking for more money, so the owner let it lapse while he tried to find someone cheaper.”

Xander shrugged. The story of his life: always in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Anyway, some guy was hassling this girl at the bar. It was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him, but he wouldn’t leave her alone. I was gonna say something when Leon came back; his break was almost over, and he’s about twice the size of me. I figured he’d get the guy to move on and that would be that.”

Spike was hanging on Xander’s every word. Poor guy needed some excitement in his life, if Xander’s screw up was the highlight of his night. “He attacked her, then?”

“She said something ugly to him, I couldn't hear what, but all the sudden, he broke into game face and grabbed her. She screamed, and I jumped over the bar.”

Spike laughed out loud at that. “White hat to the rescue! It must have been quite a thrilling moment.”

Xander’s bark of laughter was full of derision. “Spike. This is _me_ we’re talking about. When was the last time you saw me do anything athletic and coordinated? I knocked them both onto the floor and broke a stool in the process.”

He squinched his eyes closed to hide from the dawning understanding in Spike’s eyes. If he kept them closed, he might make it through this without the deep embarrassment he felt creeping up on him driving him out of the room in mortification. Maybe. Probably not.

“Bloody hell.” Spike was in awe of his blundering idiocy. Xander could hear it in his voice. “So? What happened?”

Might as well finish it off. He dropped his head onto the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling. “So I lay there, the breath knocked right out of me, a piece of bar stool poking me in the back. The girl started yelling at me for ruining her dress, which had a long rip up the side, and then she started kicking me with her sharp-toed high heels. About the time Leon came out with Mark, the manager, the vamp lunged at me, going straight for my neck. We rolled over a couple of times, back and forth, while Leon was pushing his way through the crowd to break us up. Then the vamp rolled right over that piece of broken stool, and dusted himself.”

There was dead silence from Spike. Maybe he’d left? No, there was no way he wouldn’t stick around to laugh his ass off at Xander, this was too perfect an opportunity. Finally he heard a sound like steam escaping from a tea kettle or something. He sat up to see Spike, his eyes watering, face scrunched up as he struggled valiantly to keep his laughter inside, his expressive face twisting with the effort of holding it back.

Xander glared at him, as solemnly as he could, but it was too hard to keep up for long. Finally, a snort of laughter broke free, and it was as if a dam broke. Xander’s laughter exploded out of him. Spike’s eyebrows wiggled comically as he fought it, but finally he couldn’t hold it in any longer and his laughter burst free, loud and raucous and totally out of his control.

It felt good to laugh it out. The entire event had been frustrating and embarrassing, and after the adrenaline rush of the struggle and his argument with the manager, which had not gone well at all, there had been nothing for Xander to do but stumble home in defeat, one more loser in the night. The laughter was freeing, a way to get all that excess energy out without hitting someone, since most of the someones he knew could hit harder than he could.

The two laughed so hard they ended up in a pile on the floor, sandwiched between the couch and the coffee table, gasping and wheezing, shoulder to shoulder, leaning together to keep themselves from collapsing to the floor. Xander’s sides ached from laughter, but that was better than the ache in his back where he’d landed on that damned wooden stool.

“I’ve got to give it to you, Harris. That’s the best one I’ve heard in ages.”

“Thanks,” Xander said dryly. “I’m so glad I could amuse you with my ineptitude.”

“That’s almost as good as the one where you staked that fledge by falling on him.” Spike’s voice was full of barely controlled laughter.

“Hey!”

Spike snorted. Then he did it again. And before Xander knew it, the two of them were at it again. Spike howled with laughter when Xander told him about the look on Leon’s face when the vamp dusted himself, right in front of their eyes. Spike’s whole body shook with his laughter, dislodging Xander, who was leaning against him, and Xander slid slowly to the floor, giggling manically as he described the fit Mark threw when he realized that the vamp had an unpaid bar tab.

When the laughter finally died back down, Xander leaned up on one elbow to grab his beer, having had no interest in moving any farther than to lean his head against Spike’s thigh. They sat there in companionable silence for a while, the sound of Dick Clark rambling on about past New Year’s celebrations a pleasant background noise that didn’t actually intrude on their mellow mood. The silence was broken by an occasional snigger or two, but for the most part, Xander felt mellower than he had in ages.

Xander’s dad bellowing down the stairs brought them back to themselves. The pizza had arrived.

By the time Xander got back, Spike was cursing loudly in British, which might occasionally sound like English, but Xander was convinced was its own separate language. He could only understand maybe one out of every three words or so, but it sounded like Spike’s treasured white dress shirt had a big rip in it, and Spike was not happy. Xander set the boxes down on the coffee table, and amused himself making up meanings for the words he didn’t understand as he grabbed himself another beer and started in on the pizza.

“It’s only a shirt, fangless. And a white one at that. What’s the big deal? You don’t even wear white.”

Spike’s glare was harsh enough that Xander winced away from it automatically.

“What?” Xander mumbled around a piece of pizza.

Slumping down into the orange chair from hell, Spike stared at the rip morosely. “I got this shirt to celebrate killing my second slayer – me and Drusilla danced all over town that night, made love in Central Park. I wore this shirt that New Year’s Eve at the Waldorf=Astoria, dancing among the elite, the finest New York had to offer. Wore it in Egypt, when Dru insisted we climb the Sphinx and chip off a piece of what’s left of his nose. When we visited Tokyo, I wore it to sakura parties under the cherry blossoms. I’ve hung onto this shirt all these years. Only ever wear it on New Year’s Eve these days, it’s so thin. Now it’s nothing but a rag.”

Xander had stopped eating, surprised at the emotions Spike was revealing, the depth of his pain. When Spike started to rip the shirt apart, Xander jumped up. “No!”

Spike looked at him in surprise.

“Don’t. I mean, let me look at it.” He walked over, wiping his greasy hands onto his already dirty work pants. Taking the shirt from Spike, he examined the rip. It was only about four inches long, and a bit jagged, but close to the seam under Spike’s arm. “No blood. You didn’t get hurt?”

Spike shook his head. “Nah, he came close, up under my arm, but I had my duster on. I thought he’d ripped the leather. I checked the coat, but didn’t think to check the shirt.”

“We can fix this. I mean, I can. But let me finish eating, first, okay? I missed my break at work, and then I got fired and well… I just need to eat something. But I can fix it.”

“You think so?”

“It won’t be perfect, or anything. But I got pretty good at sewing up my own clothes, even before I started hanging out with Buffy. My dad gave my mom a budget for clothes, and she had to make it stretch, so if I wanted any spending money, I had to make my clothes last. I can sew a rip well enough that you can hardly see it. You’ve had this shirt longer than I’ve been alive, Spike, you can’t just give it up because of a rip.”

Spike nodded, staring at Xander strangely. “All right. Worth a try, I guess.”

“Sure it is.” Xander laid the shirt out over the back of the couch, so it wouldn’t get dirty, then went back to his pizza. “C’mon, grab some pizza. I got buffalo wings and onion rings …”

“Bloody hell, whelp!” Spike came over to the couch and hunted up the buffalo wings, upending the onion rings on the inside lid of the pizza box to make them easier to get to. “You planning on feeding an army this evening?”

Xander shrugged. “Well, you never know. I didn’t have any idea how long you’d be around, and cold pizza makes good breakfast food, so even if you left, it wouldn’t go to waste or anything.”

Spike dug in, like Xander had expected him to, and he sat back and enjoyed his meal. It hadn’t turned out to be too bad a New Year’s Eve, after all. Of course it wasn’t over. Once he sewed up Spike’s shirt, and he left for his party, it wouldn’t be as much fun, but still. He felt a lot better than he had when he’d gotten home. The laughter had helped a lot. He’d needed some kind of a release. Who’d have thought Spike’s mooching ways would come in handy?

“So you’re home for the night, then?”

Spike had practically inhaled the buffalo wings, and was licking the sauce off his fingers, his agile tongue darting out to clean them one at a time. Xander watched, mesmerized for a moment, before Spike stopped and stared at him, obviously waiting for an answer. He had to think for a moment before the question came to him.

“Oh. Yeah, I’ve had my fun for the night. I’ll toast Dick Clark with a beer at midnight, recover from my hangover tomorrow, then Tuesday, I’ll check the help wanted ads for another night job. Too bad. I liked that job, even if it did get in the way of patrolling.”

“Why’d you stop doing construction? I thought you liked that shite.”

Xander grinned. “I do like construction, but the work’s not as steady in the winter. Not like we have a _real_ winter here in California, but we can’t work when the weather is bad, and I’m trying to save up enough to get the hell out of this basement. So I got a second job. I’m getting desperate – I’ll take any job at this point, as long as I can’t catch magic syphilis there.”

Spike looked at him blankly.

“You were there. The first time I worked construction, I fell into a hole and the spirit of an angry Native American gave me mystical syphilis and shot arrows through you.”

Spike was sucking on his fingers now, and it was making Xander uncomfortable. He got up and grabbed another beer, snagging the paper towel roll on his way back. He dropped it in Spike’s lap before sitting down.

“Ta.” Spike thanked him. “Thanksgiving before last, yeah? I remember. You were a right mess.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.” He picked up another slice of pizza, taking a big bite. “Since then, I tend to stay far away from any and all mystical venereal diseases.”

Spike snorted. “Now, there a smart idea, whelp. You keep that up.”

Xander laughed; only on the Hellmouth would a sentence that included the words ‘mystical venereal diseases’ make any sense at all.

By the time Xander had all the trash cleared away and sat down to work on Spike’s shirt, it was close to eleven P.M. Spike didn’t seem in any hurry, so Xander took his time and concentrated on doing the best job he could. Spike made fun of Dick Clark at every opportunity, and Xander listened attentively to the tall tales Spike spun of his time in New York.

At least Xander hoped they were tall tales, but knowing Spike, maybe they weren’t. Xander could almost see Drusilla munching on a subway train driver, while Spike tried to figure out how to stop the train before it ran through the station and crashed.

“Motorman? What the hell is a motorman?”

“The guy who drives the train, of course. Why, what do you call them?”

“Ummm… conductor? Driver? How should I know? We don’t have a subway. Thank goodness. Can you imagine how dangerous it would be to ride a subway here in Sunnydale?”

“You’ve got your own underground, and it’s about as dangerous as you want to get.”

Xander agreed. “Tell me about it. Every time we have to go into the sewers, I about panic. It’s scary down there.”

“You’re plain stupid to risk it, even with the Slayer.” Spike sounded angry, although Xander didn’t understand why. “When do you go underground? I’ve never seen you do it.”

“Well, we don’t do it often. But sometimes we don’t have a choice. That’s how we got to the Master, back when Buffy had to face him. She went down by herself and I had to _guilt_ Deadboy into going after her, the coward.”

“He always was a little short on courage.” Spike agreed. “That’s when you saved her life, right? Red told me all about that. You went down on your own?”

“No, I went with Angel. I had no idea how to get there.”

“Might as well have been on your own, for all he would bother to look out for you.”

There was a moment of silence, as Spike drank his beer, and Xander thought about Angel dragging him through the school on Teacher-Parent Night his sophomore year, and Xander’s first introduction to Spike. It was strange how things could change in four years.

“Look here. I don’t want you going down there without me, you get it? It’s not safe.”

Xander laughed. “I’m a big boy, Spike. I can take care of myself.”

“Maybe so, under normal circumstances, but the Sunnydale Underground is dangerous territory and you don’t know what you might run up against. I find out you’ve been down there without me, and to hell with the chip, I’ll find a way to bloody well skin you alive.”

Xander looked up, surprised. That had almost sounded like concern, or at least Spike’s version of it. Spike looked uncomfortable, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter from the table and lighting up, as if avoiding eye contact with Xander. Xander grinned at him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He went back to his sewing with a warm spot growing in his chest. As odd as it sounded, it felt good to know Spike cared enough to threaten to skin him alive.

It was a quarter to midnight when he finally finished the shirt. Spike had kept up a running monologue on the differences between British-English and American-English that had kept Xander laughing the whole time. Who knew that in England, trousers were pants, and pants were underwear? It really was like a whole different language, sometimes.

Spike examined the shirt with surprise. “Bloody hell. That’s pretty damn incredible, Xander.”

Xander was so shocked that Spike had called him by his first name that it took a minute for the compliment to sink in. He was pretty proud of it himself. He’d done a good job of it, if he did say so, using his tiniest stitches. Since the rip was under the arm, it probably wouldn’t show without close examination.

“Uh. Thanks.”

Spike hadn’t bothered to put his jeans back on yet, and the sight of Spike in those white boxer briefs and the white dress shirt open over his muscled chest was doing strange and unexpected things to Xander’s libido. Must be time for another beer. He got up and crossed to the fridge, shaking his head. He needed to have his head examined. Spike would do it for free, with the use of an ax, if he had the slightest idea of the thoughts crowding Xander’s head right now, so he needed to get himself under control.

It was a sad reflection on his life, he realized, that just because Spike was treating him like a human being for once, Xander immediately started having romantic thoughts about him. Although romantic might be stretching things a bit. Lusty thoughts was more like it. Very lusty. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Spike would be leaving any minute now for his party and his ‘double-D chit’. If he could keep his act together for the next five minutes, he could avoid making a fool of himself.

By the time he made it back to the couch, Spike was dressed – the white shirt open over a black t-shirt, tight black jeans and the usual combat boots finishing off the ensemble. Xander sighed in relief that he hadn’t seen the switchover from the boxers now draped over an arm of the couch and the jeans. In his current state, that was something he didn’t need to see. He pretended to ignore the fact that he’d just called Spike’s clothing an ensemble. He was turning gay at a very fast and very unexpected rate.

“I’m off, then.” Spike shrugged into his duster, nodding at Xander.

Xander grinned at him. “Have fun.”

“Yeah. I will. Ta.”

And he was gone. Not even a ‘Happy New Year, mate.’ Xander shook his head. What the hell had he expected? This was Spike after all. He cracked open his beer, and plopped down on the opposite end of the couch from his underwear – staring at the boxers morosely. One more thing he’d have to clean tomorrow. Good thing he didn’t have to work tomorrow night; he could spend the day recovering from the hangover he was expecting to develop, and wash clothes in the evening.

Grabbing the remote, he turned up the volume on the TV – it was only about ten minutes before the countdown started. Dick Clark was blathering on about how the ball that would drop at midnight was created. He concentrated on Dick to avoid thinking about Spike.

“D’I make it in time?”

Spike’s voice startled him enough that he almost dropped his beer. Spike draped his coat over a chair, then plopped down in the middle of the couch while Xander was still recovering, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Where the hell did you come from?” That was not a squeak in his voice. Xander promised himself that he did not squeak.

Spike smirked at him. “Well, my da and my mum had to have sex at some point.” He frowned. “It’s not something I like to dwell on. Where’d you think I came from?”

“Very funny. I thought you were going to your party. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, that. I’m pretty sure the bint with the double D’s has made off with someone else by now. With my luck, she probably met a chaos demon or two, and they’re off sliming each other.” Spike looked as disgusted by that thought as Xander was, and they shuddered at the same time.

“Any road, I figured I’d keep you company instead.” He pulled a bottle of champagne out of the bag he was holding, handing it off to Xander before pulling out another six pack of that European beer he’d been drinking all night.

“Champagne?” Xander turned the bottle around to examine the label. “Dom Pérignon. Jesus, Spike. This is the good stuff! How the hell did you pay for this?”

Spike turned to look at him, one elegant eyebrow rising almost up to his hairline.

“Oh, right. What the hell was I thinking?” Xander looked back down at the stolen bottle chilling his palms. What the hell. It was a special occasion, right? What was a little pilfered champagne between friends?

Next, Spike brought a box out of the bag, opening it with a little flair. Inside were two champagne glasses, NYE 2000 etched in the glass.

“Nice!” Xander pulled them out and set them on the coffee table. He handed the champagne over to Spike. No sense letting him know that Xander had failed ‘uncorking’ in Leon’s crash bartending course. His few attempts at opening a bottle of wine while he was with Anya had taught him that it was an acquired skill.

He watched carefully as Spike did it, laughing and grabbing for the glasses as the champagne bubbled over, surprised that he was able to catch most of it. Obviously, if you did it right, you didn’t end up with more champagne on the floor than in the glasses. He was going to have to ask Spike for lessons.

“Just in time, mate!”

Xander looked over to see the numbers on the screen, as the countdown neared 11:59:30.

“You know all this happened three hours ago in New York.”

Xander elbowed him in the ribs. “Way to spoil the immediacy of the event, Spike. It’s midnight for us, so shut up and count.”

The ball kept changing color as it dropped, red and yellow and blue and green, and bright lights sparkled over the surface. It was exciting. For the first time since he was a child and he’d snuck halfway down the stairs while his uncle Rory waved his beer bottle around and chanted the countdown along with the TV, Xander got caught up in the whole magic of the moment, jumping to his feet as he counted down the seconds.

“Six. Five. Four.” He was surprised to see Spike standing up next to him, counting along. “Three. Two. One! Happy New Year!”

Spike held out his champagne glass and toasted Xander, and they drank. Far too fast to appreciate the vintage and the cost, but hell, it was the beginning of a new year, and Xander was more than glad to see the last one go. Maybe this one would be better. He could only hope.

He finished off his glass, and Spike took it from him, setting both glasses on the coffee table. He grabbed Xander’s shoulders in both hands, turning him so they were facing each other. Spike’s face was beautiful when he smiled like that. Xander couldn’t ever remember seeing him smile just for the sake of smiling, like he was doing now. He was beautiful.

“Happy New Year, Xander.”

He smiled back. “Happy New Year, Spike.”

He wasn’t sure which one of them started it. He suspected it was Spike, but it didn’t really matter. All he knew was that they were kissing, and it was the best thing he remembered happening to him in a long time. He was pretty damn sure that wasn’t the champagne talking, or the beer, either. It was them. Him and Spike, together.

Finally Spike pulled back, licking his lips, and Xander took advantage of the moment to gasp for air. He’d forgotten that vampires didn’t need to breathe. He glanced down at the champagne bottle, and Spike followed his eyes.

“You want more champagne?”

Xander laughed, and shoved Spike backwards onto the couch.

“Oi!” He sprawled there, lips swollen from their kiss, his eyes practically glowing with laugher, and his usually glued down hair a mess of curls from Xander’s hands running through it. Thank goodness Xander hadn’t had any gel for him to use. “Now what the bloody hell was that for?”

Xander grabbed the champagne bottle and knelt on the couch, straddling Spike’s legs. “I couldn’t decide if I wanted more champagne, or more of you.”

“You decided on the champagne, then, did you?” Was that a touch of disappointment in Spike’s eyes, or was he imagining things? It was gone in an instant, whatever it was.

Xander grinned as he pushed Spike’s legs together with his own, giving him a place to sit. He settled his ass firmly on Spike’s thighs, then shook his head. “It’s a new year, Spike. I can have whatever I want.”

Spike arched one eyebrow at him. “What exactly do you want, then?”

“I want you _and_ champagne.” He held the open bottle over Spike’s head and started to tip it over. “Open wide, Spike.”

Spike dropped his head back and did exactly that, and Xander poured champagne into his open mouth. He set the bottle down, and dove in, drinking and kissing at the same time. Screw a woman’s slipper. Xander decided there was nothing better in the world than drinking stolen Dom Pérignon out of Spike’s mouth. Spike’s hands squeezed his ass, and Xander couldn’t help but moan. Damn, that felt good. He had a feeling 2001 was going to be a _very_ good year.


End file.
